"Where do you normally eat your lunch?" Miss Sharpe asked.
"On the fly" was the truthful answer, but I'd learned not to tell Miss Sharpe the truth if I could help it. "In the family sitting room."
"Very well. You'll have to show me the way." She picked up her small satchel and followed me down the hall.
So much for my hope of slipping away to pass a message to Will.
When we reached the sitting room, she sat at the table and began unpacking her lunch. She pulled out an apple, some cold roast chicken, and a piece of cake. My mouth watered and my stomach grumbled loudly. I hurried over to the cupboard, took down a new jar of jam, and unwrapped the day-old loaf of bread. With the smell of roast chicken filling my nose, I resolutely made myself two jam sandwiches, then went to sit down at the table across from Miss Sharpe.
Watching someone else eat lovely food when one is making do is horrid. Especially when one wants to smash one's jam sandwich into the self-satisfied face of that person. Miss Sharpe ate her lunch in silence. I inhaled my two sandwiches before she even finished her chicken, so then I was forced to just wait. The cake smelled of butter and vanilla and looked very moist, and Miss Sharpe managed to eat it without leaving so much as a crumb behind. She carefully rewrapped her napkins, then returned them to her satchel. She looked up at me and smiled. "Time to get back to our lessons."
Once back in the reading room, Miss Sharpe instructed me to work on my essay concerning the visit to the Dreadnought. It was very hard to concentrate on a boat when my mind kept reminding me that I simply had to get a message to Wigmere as soon as possible.
Miss Sharpe sat nearby, serenely reading her copy of Mrs. Primbottom's Guide to Raising Perfect Children. Every once in a while, she would share a choice little tidbit with me.
"Ah, here we go. 'A lack of cleanliness must be discouraged as soon as possible, as it is impossible to properly love filthy children.'"
I did my best to ignore her and tried to determine if a turban engine was spelled the same way as the turban one wore on one's head.
"'Penmanship is a sign of virtue, and sloppy penmanship reveals a disorderly soul.'"
I gritted my teeth and bore down on my pen nib. I really had to do something about her. And soon.
A short while later, Miss Sharpe put aside Mrs. Primbottom's Guide to Raising Perfect Children and picked up a copy of The Staff of Duty: A Governess's Tales from the Trenches. Fortunately, she did not appear to be inclined to share these tales with me, for which I was eternally grateful.
Mum stuck her head inside the reading room. "Excuse me."
Miss Sharpe turned a cool glance her way. "Yes?"
Mother raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I was speaking to my daughter."
Miss Sharpe sniffed. "Very well, but I normally prefer to have no interruptions when working with my pupils."
Mother glanced pointedly at the book Miss Sharpe had been reading. "It won't take but a moment. Theodosia, I just wanted to let you know that Father and I have been called to an emergency board of directors meeting at Lord Tumsley's." In spite of the strong face she was putting on for Miss Sharpe, I could tell she was worried. "We won't be back until five o'clock."
"Very well, ma'am," Miss Sharpe said, even though Mother had been talking to me. When she looked back down at her book, Mum blew me a quick kiss, which lifted my spirits a small bit. I loathed the idea of Mother and Father being grilled by a bunch of stuffed shirts who clearly had no true knowledge of anything important.
Two long, painful hours later, Miss Sharpe looked at her watch, an expression of disapproval on her face. "Your parents aren't back yet. They did say five o'clock, didn't they?"
"Yes, they did, but perhaps the board of directors had lots to talk about."
She frowned. "I'm afraid I've a meeting I must go to—"
At last! A chance at freedom!
"—and I can't let you stay here all alone."
"Oh, but you can! Besides, I won't be alone. Most of the curators stay until seven o'clock, and Flimp is here all night. I'll be fine." Not that any of that mattered, since I planned on escaping to Somerset House immediately in order to report to Wigmere.
"Well, if you're sure. Perhaps I should ask Mr. Weems."
"Certainly," I said, folding my hands in my lap. "If you have another fifteen minutes to track him down."
She glanced at her watch again. "Oh, dear," she muttered, and I briefly wondered what kind of meeting she had. Finally, she seemed to make up her mind. "Very well." She pulled a book from her satchel and handed it to me. "But I'll give you something to do while you wait. We're going to work on your Latin next. You can begin by translating this. I expect pages one through ten to be done by tomorrow morning."
I took the volume of Virgil's Bucolics from her. "Very well, Miss Sharpe." I would have said yes to just about anything to get her on her way at this point.
Miss Sharpe bundled into her things and left. Five minutes later, I did the same. I patted my coat pockets, only to find them empty. Drat. I would need money. Even I wasn't so foolhardy as to walk clear across town in the dark.
I hurried to the sitting room and over to the settee. Wrinkling my nose, I shoved my hand between the back of the cushion and the seat. My fingers met with crumbs and lint and mysterious bits of all kinds. Ignoring them, I shoved my arm in farther and groped toward the sides. There—something hard and flat. Please let it be a coin!
It was! I did this twice more, scraping together enough for cab fare, then rushed downstairs and out the west entrance. I hadn't wanted Flimp to see me leave, as he would have most likely tried to stop me or at the very least sent someone after me.
You'd be surprised at how difficult it is to get a cab to take notice of an eleven-year-old girl. You'd think they'd stop just because they realized I shouldn't be out after dark, but they seemed to look right through me and drive on past. Finally, a hansom dropped a gentleman off two doors down from the museum. Before the cabby could take off again, I darted forward and put a hand on the side of the cab.
"Eh, wot's this? Let go of me cab, miss!"
"No! I mean, please. I need a ride. I've got the money!" I said, holding up the coins.
His eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his cap. "What's a young bit like you doing out by yerself, eh?"
"My parents ... let me come visit the museum today ... and now I'm to take a cab back to meet them. At Somerset House."
He shook his head and reached for the coins. "I can't very well let you stand around out here all by ye'self wif no one to watch over you. Climb in."
I thought he muttered something about parents who didn't mind their offspring properly, but I ignored it. Of course Mother and Father minded me properly. They were just busy right this minute. Getting a good drubbing, I was afraid.
Luckily the cabby kept his mouth shut for the rest of the ride and got me to Somerset House in good time. As he dropped me off, he said, "I've a good mind to go in there and give yer parents a stern talking-to."
My mind scrambled quickly, trying to think if Wigmere would catch on in time to pretend he was my father. Well, grandfather, more likely. But the cabby just shook his head. "It's none o' me business, but you watch yerself, miss. Lots of unpleasant things lurk in the city after dark."
And didn't I know that better than most. "Thank you so much. I will be careful." I waved goodbye, then made my way across the large courtyard to the front door of Somerset House. The doorman raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of me. "I'm here to see Lord Wigmere," I explained. His face cleared a bit, as if he were used to odd comings and goings on Lord Wigmere's behalf.
Come to think of it, he most likely was, given the nature of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers.
When I reached the third floor, I saw Sticky Will still in his public sweeper disguise, lurking just outside Boythorpe's partially open office door.
Will heard my step on the landing and whirled around. His face relaxed when he saw it was only me, and he motioned me to be quiet and come closer.
"I been waiting for someone to come along all afternoon. Go ahead, now—knock on 'is door."
"I don't want to knock on his door," I hissed. "He'll only stick his annoying nose in my business and try to keep me from seeing Wigmere."
Will's face fell. "Ah, come on, miss. I promise you, 'e won't be able to bother you this time. Just knock. Please."
Well, he did say please. And by now, my curiosity was piqued. He clearly had something up his sleeve. I sighed. "Very well."
I sidled up against the doorjamb and rapped smartly.
Boythorpe looked up, his eyes narrowing when he saw me. "Yes?" he said without getting up. A sure sign of his lack of respect. Pulling out my best Grandmother Throckmorton impersonation, I said, "I'm here to see Lord Wigmere. I'll be happy to show myself to his door."
"I don't think so," he said, then planted his hands on the desk and pushed to his feet.
Or tried to.
But he seemed rather stuck to his chair, so he only made it halfway up. The seat clung to his bottom like a half-laid egg.
He frowned, trying to get a glimpse of the firmly stuck chair behind him, looking for all the world like Isis when she decides to chase her tail. His face turned pink as he realized he'd been the butt—literally—of a practical joke.
"Never mind, Boythorpe. Really, I can find Lord Wigmere all by myself." Unable to contain myself any longer, I moved a few feet down the hall, where I erupted in a fit of laughter. Will joined me, clutching his sides. "What on earth did you do to him?" I asked when I could speak.
"'E's boxed me ears one too many times," he said. "So I smeared a layer o' treacle on 'is chair."
"Aren't you afraid he'll tell Wigmere?"
"Nah. I caught the sniff trying to read Wigg's mail one day. If 'e tries to tell on me, 'e knows I've got that up me sleeve."
I frowned. "Reading Lord Wigmere's mail seems rather serious. Don't you think you should report that?"
"Nah. I caught him before he got anything opened up. Now, come on—Wigmere will want to see you straightaway."